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Best Famous Sympathy Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Sympathy poems. This is a select list of the best famous Sympathy poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Sympathy poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of sympathy poems.

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by Ralph Waldo Emerson | |

To Eva

O FAIR and stately maid whose eyes 
Were kindled in the upper skies 
At the same torch that lighted mine; 
For so I must interpret still 
Thy sweet dominion o'er my will 5 
A sympathy divine.
Ah! let me blameless gaze upon Features that seem at heart my own; Nor fear those watchful sentinels Who charm the more their glance forbids 10 Chaste-glowing underneath their lids With fire that draws while it repels.


by Mary Darby Robinson | |

Sonnet to Evening

 [Written under a tree in the woods of St.
Amand, in Flanders.
] SWEET BALMY HOUR! ­dear to the pensive mind, Oft have I watch'd thy dark and weeping shade, Oft have I hail'd thee in the dewy glade, And drop'd a tear of SYMPATHY refin'd.
When humming bees, hid in their golden bow'rs, Sip the pure nectar of MAY'S blushing rose, Or faint with noon-day toils, their limbs repose, In Baths of Essence stol'n from sunny flow'rs.
Oft do I seek thy shade dear with'ring tree, Sad emblem of my OWN disast'rous state; Doom'd in the spring of life, alas ! like THEE To fade, and droop beneath the frowns of FATE; Like THEE, may Heaven to ME the meed bestow, To shelter Sorrow's tear, and sooth THE CHILD OF WOE.


by Mary Darby Robinson | |

Sonnet XLIV: Here Droops the Muse

 Here droops the muse! while from her glowing mind,
Celestial Sympathy, with humid eye,
Bids the light Sylph capricious Fancy fly,
Time's restless wings with transient flowr's to bind!
For now, with folded arms and head inclin'd,
Reflection pours the deep and frequent sigh,
O'er the dark scroll of human destiny,
Where gaudy buds and wounding thorns are twin'd.
O! Sky-born VIRTUE! sacred is thy name! And though mysterious Fate, with frown severe, Oft decorates thy brows with wreaths of Fame, Bespangled o'er with sorrow's chilling tear! Yet shalt thou more than mortal raptures claim, The brightest planet of th' ETERNAL SPHERE!


by David Herbert Lawrence | |

The Elephant Is Slow To Mate

 The elephant, the huge old beast,
 is slow to mate;
he finds a female, they show no haste
 they wait

for the sympathy in their vast shy hearts
 slowly, slowly to rouse
as they loiter along the river-beds
 and drink and browse

and dash in panic through the brake
 of forest with the herd,
and sleep in massive silence, and wake
 together, without a word.
So slowly the great hot elephant hearts grow full of desire, and the great beasts mate in secret at last, hiding their fire.
Oldest they are and the wisest of beasts so they know at last how to wait for the loneliest of feasts for the full repast.
They do not snatch, they do not tear; their massive blood moves as the moon-tides, near, more near till they touch in flood.


by Ellis Parker Butler | |

Bird Nesting

 O wonderful! In sport we climbed the tree,
Eager and laughing, as in all our play,
To see the eggs where, in the nest, they lay,
But silent fell before the mystery.
For, one brief moment there, we understood By sudden sympathy too fine for words That we were sisters to the brooding birds And part, with them, in God’s great motherhood.


by Sir John Suckling | |

I prithee send me back my heart

 I prithee send me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine;
For if from yours you will not part,
Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?

Yet now I think on't, let it lie,
To find it were in vain;
For thou hast a thief in either eye
Would steal it back again.
Why should two hearts in one breast lie, And yet not lodge together? O Love! where is thy sympathy, If thus our breasts thou sever? But love is such a mystery, I cannot find it out; For when I think I'm best resolved, I then am in most doubt.
Then farewell care, and farewell woe; I will no longer pine; For I'll believe I have her heart, As much as she hath mine.


by Ehsan Sehgal | |

Sympathy

" Love includes sympathy, but sympathy does not love.
" Ehsan Sehgal


by Ehsan Sehgal | |

Soft hearts

"Unsympathy ful and stone hearts are the place of evils, angels only stay in the hearts that are soft and sympathy ful.
" Ehsan Sehgal


by Ehsan Sehgal | |

Advantage

"Never take advantage of anyone's love, trust, sincerity, sympathy, tolerant and weakness, nor underestimate anyone's way of thinking and action.
" Ehsan Sehgal


by Walt Whitman | |

Behavior.

 BEHAVIOR—fresh, native, copious, each one for himself or herself, 
Nature and the Soul expressed—America and freedom expressed—In it the finest
 art, 
In it pride, cleanliness, sympathy, to have their chance, 
In it physique, intellect, faith—in it just as much as to manage an army or a city,
 or to
 write a book—perhaps more, 
The youth, the laboring person, the poor person, rivalling all the rest—perhaps
 outdoing
 the rest,
The effects of the universe no greater than its; 
For there is nothing in the whole universe that can be more effective than a man’s or
 woman’s daily behavior can be, 
In any position, in any one of These States.


by Ted Hughes | |

Crow and the Sea

He tried ignoring the sea 
But it was bigger than death, just as it was bigger than life.
He tried talking to the sea But his brain shuttered and his eyes winced from it as from open flame.
He tried sympathy for the sea But it shouldered him off - as a dead thing shoulders you off.
He tried hating the sea But instantly felt like a scrutty dry rabbit-dropping on the windy cliff.
He tried just being in the same world as the sea But his lungs were not deep enough And his cheery blood banged off it Like a water-drop off a hot stove.
Finally He turned his back and he marched away from the sea As a crucified man cannot move.


by Dorothy Parker | |

Condolence

 They hurried here, as soon as you had died,
Their faces damp with haste and sympathy,
And pressed my hand in theirs, and smoothed my knee,
And clicked their tongues, and watched me, mournful-eyed.
Gently they told me of that Other Side- How, even then, you waited there for me, And what ecstatic meeting ours would be.
Moved by the lovely tale, they broke, and cried.
And when I smiled, they told me I was brave, And they rejoiced that I was comforted, And left to tell of all the help they gave.
But I had smiled to think how you, the dead, So curiously preoccupied and grave, Would laugh, could you have heard the things they said.


by Edgar Lee Masters | |

Isa Nutter

 Doc Meyers said I had satyriasis,
And Doc Hill called it leucaemia --
But I know what brought me here:
I was sixty-four but strong as a man
Of thirty-five or forty.
And it wasn't writing a letter a day, And it wasn't late hours seven nights a week, And it wasn't the strain of thinking of Minnie, And it wasn't fear or a jealous dread, Or the endless task of trying to fathom Her wonderful mind, or sympathy For the wretched life she led With her first and second husband -- It was none of these that laid me low -- But the clamor of daughters and threats of sons, And the sneers and curses of all my kin Right up to the day I sneaked to Peoria And married Minnie in spite of them -- And why do you wonder my will was made For the best and purest of women?


by Robert William Service | |

Divine Device

 Would it be loss or gain
To hapless human-kind
If we could feel no pain
Of body or of mind?
Would it be for our good
If we were calloused so,
And God in mercy should
End all our woe?

I wonder and I doubt:
It is my bright belief
We should be poor without
The gift of grief.
For suffering may be A blessing, not a bane, And though we sorrow we Should praise for Pain.
Aye, it's my brave belief That grateful we should be, Since in the heart of grief Is love and sympathy, We do not weep in vain, So let us kiss the rod, And see in purging Pain The Grace of God.


by Robert William Service | |

Toilet Seats

 While I am emulating Keats
My brother fabrics toilet seats,
The which, they say, are works of art,
Aesthetic features of the mart;
So exquisitely are they made
With plastic of a pastel shade,
Of topaz, ivory or rose,
Inviting to serene repose.
Rajahs I'm told have seats of gold,-- (They must, I fear, be very cold).
But Tom's have thermostatic heat, With sympathy your grace to greet.
Like silver they are neon lit, Making a halo as you sit: Then lo! they play with dulset tone A melody by Mendelssohn.
Oh were I lyrical as Yeats I would not sing of toilet seats, But rather serenade a star,-- Yet I must take things as they are.
For even kings must coyly own Them as essential as a throne: So as I tug the Muse's teats I envy Tom his toilet seats.


by Robert William Service | |

Sympathy

 My Muse is simple,--yet it's nice
To think you don't need to think twice
 On words I write.
I reckon I've a common touch And if you say I cuss too much I answer: 'Quite!' I envy not the poet's lot; He has something I haven't got, Alas, I know.
But I have something maybe he Would envy just a mite in me,-- I'm rather low.
For I am cast of common clay, And from a ditch I fought my way, And that is why The while the poet scans the skies, My gaze is grimly gutterwise, Earthy am I.
And yet I have a gift, perhaps Denied to proud poetic chaps Who scoff at me; I know the hearts of humble folk; I too have bowed beneath the yoke: So let my verse for them evoke Your sympathy.


by Robert William Service | |

My Picture

 I made a picture; all my heart
I put in it, and all I knew
Of canvas-cunning and of Art,
Of tenderness and passion true.
A worshipped Master came to see; Oh he was kind and gentle, too.
He studied it with sympathy, And sensed what I had sought to do.
Said he: "Your paint is fresh and fair, And I can praise it without cease; And yet a touch just here and there Would make of it a masterpiece.
" He took the brush from out my hand; He touched it here, he touched it there.
So well he seemed to understand, And momently it grew more fair.
Oh there was nothing I could say, And there was nothing I could do.
I thanked him, and he went his way, And then - I slashed my picture through.
For though his brush with soft caress Had made my daub a thing divine, Oh God! I wept with bitterness, .
.
.
It wasn't mine, it wasn't mine.


by Robert William Service | |

The Macaronis

 Italian people peaceful are,--
 Let it be to their credit.
They mostly fail to win a war, --Oh they themselves have said it.
"Allergic we to lethal guns And military might: We love our homes and little ones, And loath to fight.
" But Teutons are a warrior race Who seek the sword to rattle; And in the sun they claim a place, Even at price of battle.
The prestige of a uniform Is sacred in their sight; They deem that they are soldiers born And might is right.
And so I love Italians though Their fighting powers are petty; My heart with sympathy doth go To eaters of spaghetti.
And if the choice were left to me, I know beyond a doubt A hundred times I'd rather be A Dago than a Kraut.


by Robert William Service | |

My Trinity

 For all good friends who care to read,
here let me lyre my living creed .
.
.
One: you may deem me Pacifist, For I've no sympathy with strife.
Like hell I hate the iron fist, And shun the battle-ground of life.
The hope of peace is dear to me, And I to Christian faith belong, Holding that breath should sacred be, And War is always wrong.
Two: Universalist am I And dream a world that's frontier free, With common tongue and common tie, Uncurst by nationality; Where colour, creed and class are one, And lowly folk are lifted high; Where every breed beneath the sun Is equal in God's eye.
Three: you may call me Naturist, For green glade is my quiet quest; The path of progress I have missed, And shun the city's sore unrest.
A world that's super-civilized Is one of worry, want and woe; In leafy lore let me be wised And back to Nature go.
Well, though you may but half agree, Behold my trusty Trinity


by Robert William Service | |

Detachment

 As I go forth from fair to mart
With racket ringing,
Who would divine that in my heart
Mad larks are singing.
As I sweet sympathy express, Lest I should pain them, The money-mongers cannot guess How I disdain them.
As I sit at some silly tea And flirt and flatter How I abhor society And female chatter.
As I with wonderment survey Their peacock dresses, My mind is wafted far away To wildernesses.
As I sit in some raucous pub, Taboo to women, And treat myself to greasy grub I feel quite human.
Yet there I dream, despite the din, Of God's green spaces, And sweetly dwell the peace within Of sylvan graces.
And so I wear my daily mask Of pleasant seeming, And nobody takes me to task For distant dreaming; A happy hypocrite am I Of ambiance inner, Who smiling make the same reply To saint and sinner.